So I Sing a Song of Love
by Lasrevinu
Summary: GSR Season Finale Fic


Disclaimer: I don't own CSI.

Spoilers: Season 7 finale

Rating: M

Summary: Post Season 7 finale fic. GSR

A/N: I really like The White Album, in case you didn't know. Major thanks to Quintuple A. I know the spoilers for the finale, but let's for a minute pretend that Sara doesn't get tasered. Suspend the disbelief, people. It's totally A/U and don't expect a lot.

This fic is dedicated to those who aren't going to watch the show tonight. I can't, either.

**So I Sing a Song of Love**

Chapter 1: Helter Skelter

That he had a key to her apartment seemed surreal to the team, even in their harried state. Sara was missing and the man who they looked to to lead them through this ordeal was in no state to do anything more than shakily fit the key into the lock, turning it quickly so the CSIs could burst forth across the threshold and find something -- _anything _-- that would lead them to their teammate. Catherine instinctively took over, delegating the work with speed and ease. "Greg, take the kitchen. Warrick, you get the bedroom. Nick, the bathroom." No one questioned her, and with one last glance at the hollowed shell that was Gil Grissom, they went off to their respective posts and scrutinized every square inch of space. Catherine turned to Grissom, placing a hand on his back. Sweat had seeped through his shirt and she could feel evidence of it dampening his jacket. She knew telling him to go outside to get some fresh air was useless. He wasn't leaving. The best she could do was include him on the case. "Gil, is anything different? Do you think Natalie took anything or changed something?"

"We, uh…we spend most of our time at my place. Nowadays, anyway. With the dog and all," he rasped. His throat was tight and it was hard to swallow. He could feel the tears well up in his eyes while his stomach tightened. Only once before had he ever felt this confused, this scared. Discovering the tiny body under the toy Mustang wearing a vest tagged Sidle echoed the forty-year-old memory where he realized Dad was not going to wake up from his nap. He was a helpless little boy with no recourse once again. "Sara slept here the past few nights," Grissom added before immediately squeezing his eyes shut. "I…I don't know if anything looks different. She was always moving stuff around. The pictures, the pillows…everything."

Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine could see Nick ease out of the hallway and silently beckon her. The somber look on his face made her stomach churn. "Gil," she said quietly, turning to him, "why don't you go help Greg in the kitchen? I think he needs some guidance." Numb of everything but desperation, he walked, zombie-like, to Sara's small kitchen while Catherine stole away to the bathroom.

"What is it, Nick?" she asked urgently, careful to keep her voice low. "What did you find?"

"I, uh…" the young CSI stammered. He used his bare forearm to wipe the sweat gathering at his temple. "The garbage," he blurted out. "Under all the tissues. I found this," he whispered. "Two lines."

Shock had Catherine stumbling back; she quickly found purchase against the bathroom wall. "We can't tell him."

"You don't think he knows?"

"He doesn't know. He said she's been coming here after work for the past few days. This had to be why."

Nick's lip trembled. "We…we have to tell him."

"No," Catherine said, her voice deadly serious. "He can't know there are two people he could lose."

Chapter 2: Yer Blues

It was maddening.

They didn't let him touch her. He couldn't touch her. "She could have a spinal injury, Sir," one of the paramedics warned Grissom as he got too close. "Please, let us do our job."

Unconscious but breathing, Sara was expertly extracted from the wreckage and loaded onto a gurney. All he could do was watch. The bright Nevada sun beat down on the desert creating a misty sort of dreamlike haze, making him wonder if this was all truly real, if he'd be waking up from this nightmare soon to Sara's warm body by his side, his arm wrapped around her waist as he had gathered her up during sleep in practiced fashion. Instead, she was strapped to a metal bed, the nasty purple welt at her temple the only evidence of injury. The gurney was quickly lifted into the ambulance and Grissom moved to follow it. "I'm sorry, Sir, there's not enough room. You'll have to drive to the hospital."

"I'm not leaving her," he said stonily.

"Come on, Grissom," Catherine said softly, coming up behind him. "I'll take you. We'll follow them there."

She maneuvered her SVU skillfully over the highway, keeping up with the ambulance while Grissom sat, silent, in the passenger's seat. "Gil…I have to tell you something. About Sara."

He turned his head and Catherine took it as a cue to continue. "We found a pregnancy test in the wastebasket in her apartment. It was positive."

The hair on the back of his neck stood up as a chill raced through is body. He looked out through the windshield at the ambulance in front of them. "She didn't tell me. She never told me."

"Gil, she might've taken the test right before she got to work. Sara couldn't have known for long. And it could be a false positive. I've had one of those," she supplied. "I…just wanted you to know. Before we got to the hospital."

Grissom sat back in his seat. He couldn't take any more information. The immediate relief that, yes, she had a pulse and was breathing was quickly followed by the sinking reality that she wasn't going to wake simply at the sound of his voice. There was luckily no pool of blood from an open wound, but he was not naïve enough to think that all injuries are visible. Sara had been on the receiving end of some type of blow to the head, that much he knew from the purple bruise that had marked her pale skin. He hadn't been able to examine her body under her clothes, so Grissom's mind was doing a fine job of imagining every conceivable injury that would be invisible to the naked eye: a punctured lung, a severe concussion. Broken ribs, perhaps. Maybe a ruptured spleen. In his head, he could hear Doc Robbins rattle off a list of injuries while Sara lay behind him on a slab in the morgue with a Y-incision marring the delicate skin of her chest.

"Stop the car!"

Catherine immediately pulled over, whipping her sunglasses off of her face to stare at her friend who was now bounding out of his seat to vomit on the blacktop of the freeway. Grissom felt the warmth of his blood rush to his face as his eyes involuntary leaked some of the tears he had been holding back. He quickly retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped down his face before returning to the car. "Let's go."

The hospital was a collection of sounds with no real meaning. People kept talking, asking him questions, but he could only blink and stare. Catherine had taken over, had put pens in his hand when it was time for him to sign forms, had answered asked the questions he couldn't voice. "So how does it look?" she asked, gripping Grissom's arm at the elbow tightly.

"The initial CT showed some swelling. We're doing more tests," the neurologist explained.

Catherine nodded. "Is she awake yet?"

"No."

Grissom sat stock-still in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, bargaining with God.

_Whatever life I have left in me is hers. Let her live_, he pleaded. _Please, let her live_.

Catherine let go of his arm and walked with the doctor further down the hallway, out of Grissom's earshot. "The baby? How is the baby?"

"Sara's injury is primarily neurological. It's possible that the shock of the trauma may later induce her body to spontaneously abort the fetus, but I've seen women with more serious head injuries carry babies to term."

"When will she wake up?"

The doctor gave her a practiced, sympathetic look. "There's no telling. The first twenty-four hours are crucial."

She absorbed the information and returned to Grissom's side, taking his arm once again to offer comfort. "The baby is hanging in there," she told him encouragingly. "And so is Sara."

"She almost died," he said quietly, his voice breaking. Catherine couldn't deny his claim, so she kept quiet as he continued. "It's my fault," he added somberly.

"No," Catherine exclaimed. "The chain of events that led to this moment were set off long before you even met Sara. Gil," she told him seriously, "this is what we see every single day: bad things happening to good people who have no power to stop them."

He turned his head to look at her, making eye contact for the first time in several hours. "I should've protected her. That's my job." He looked straight ahead once again at the blank hallway wall in front of him. "That's my job."

Chapter 3: Revolution

The harsh fluorescent light was giving her a killer headache.

_Hangover? _It was entirely possible. She was known to pack 'em away.

She squeezed her eyes shut and lifted her arm to rub the pain away, gasping when she felt something tug her hand in the opposite direction.

Sara opened her eyes, blinking as she tried to focus on the blurry picture before her. Tubes. Tubes were coming out of her hand. The room was white. Cold. She looked down the length of her body and saw something gray and fuzzy positioned right up against her hip.

It moved, rotating a bit, giving her a glimpse of face.

"Hello?"

The visible eye blinked and the head shot up. "Sara!"

"Yes," she answered blankly.

"You're awake!"

"Yes," she repeated. "Where am I?"

"The hospital."

"Why?"

Grissom didn't want to fill her in on the harrowing details she obviously could not recall. He'd explain them later, much later. Right now, he just wanted to focus on her beautiful face. Her beautiful, alive face. "You got hit in the head," he said simply.

"Okay. Okay. That explains the headache."

For the first time in three days, he laughed. It was a short burst of joy that would've surprised him had he not been so preoccupied on the face before him. "Oh, Sara…"

She pursed her lips as she watched his two hands engulf one of hers. He was staring at her in such a way…she couldn't quite define the look on his face. It confused her. It bewildered her.

It intrigued her.

"Who are you?"

Chapter 4: Back in the U.S.S.R.

The doctor had explained it multiple times, and it all amounted to Grissom losing the woman he loved twice in the same week. "Retrograde amnesia," they had said simply, as if they were diagnosing her with an ear infection or conjunctivitis. "She cannot recall events taking place after a certain period in her life," the neurologist explained. "Her last memory seems to be of her college graduation. That'd put her at, what? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?"

"N-no," Grissom stammered. "She was twenty at her college graduation. Almost twenty-one. She graduated early."

He stood not fifteen feet from her room at a nearby nurses' station, doing his best to piece together the information he was receiving while simultaneously overcoming the shock.

"She knows who she is, which is good. She seems sharp, but we're going to have to run some more test, do a psych consult to get a good idea of her limitations. As I understand it, she's not aware of her pregnancy?"

"No. No, I haven't told her."

But he knew he'd have to. Sara's slate had been practically wiped clean. Gone were the memories of their first meeting, first kiss, first time making love. He was a stranger to her. He was a stranger to his Sara.

Grissom returned to her room. She eyed him, tracking his movement as he took the seat by her bed. "Sara…"

"Something is wrong. Why am I in Las Vegas? Who are you? And who hit me on the head?" Her voice was calm and steady, but the fear in her eyes betrayed her. The girl in front of him -- for she was just a girl -- was terrified.

"My name is Gil. We, uh…we live together."

"I live with you," she parroted back blankly.

"Yes, um…we work together and we're…together. We date. Each other," he added before swallowing hard. "We're a couple." It felt odd to say it out loud. They were a couple, a pair. Only she didn't know it.

"We're lovers?"

"Yes," he said hoarsely. "You got hurt on the job." It was a lie. She got hurt because of him, but he knew he couldn't confess that yet. He needed her to trust him first. "And now…you can't remember."

"I don't remember you."

"I know."

"I don't remember anything about you. How long have we known each other?"

"Eleven years. Almost twelve," he told her, hoping that would impress upon her the depth of their relationship.

"We've been lovers for over a decade?" she asked, taken aback.

"No. No," he repeated. "Two years. We've been together about two years."

Sara eyed him skeptically, wondering why it took them almost a decade to move from acquaintances into a full-fledged relationship. Had she waited because he was so old? He must've been pushing fifty -- at least. Had there been anyone else? Anyone better? Had she simply just settled for the old man with the gray hair and sad eyes?

"I'm…how old am I now?"

"You'll be thirty-six in September."

"Thirty-six." Old. She was old, too. Fifteen years had evaporated in the blink of an eye and Sara found herself thirty-five with an old boyfriend, a life she didn't know anything about, and a sizeable bump on the head. "Can you…"

"What, honey?"

She paused at the term of endearment. Honey. She wasn't sure she liked it. Brushing it off momentarily, Sara continued, "Can you please…tell me about myself? What I'm doing now? Why am I here?"

Grissom ventured into the area he felt most comfortable: work. He chronicled Sara's life as a CSI, lauding her skill and steering clear of anything too personal. The doctors had warned him that a bombardment of things formerly familiar could lead to confusion and frustration on Sara's part. He kept the rest of the team away specifically for that reason. Sara had entirely too much to deal with -- including a pregnancy she was not yet aware of -- to be faced with new people.

He needed to get her home, to get her back in familiar surroundings so they could slowly work towards retrieving the memories that were locked away in some hidden part of her brain due to the trauma. He brought her a favorite pair of sweats to wear on the day she left the hospital. Grissom placed the folded clothes, including socks and underwear, on the bed before helping her up to stand. She stared at him, clearing her throat. "What?" he asked, confused.

"Can I have some privacy?"

Eyes wide, he gaped at her. He knew what she looked like naked. He had spent quality time with every square millimeter of skin that covered her body and had seen her get dressed and undressed hundreds of times. It hurt to realize that so much had been lost. "I'm…sorry," he said after a moment. "I'll be outside."

Sara watched Grissom leaved, exhaling a sigh of relief as the door closed. She wasn't quite comfortable around him. They weren't on an even keel. He knew so much about her -- intimate details, she was sure, by the way he seemed to expect to be allowed to see her change clothes -- and yet she was a mystery to herself. It was grossly unfair. Not his fault, she knew, but unfair nonetheless.

He took her "home," as he called it. It was a townhouse -- rather large compared to the tiny living spaces she'd occupied in San Francisco and Boston. "It's nice," she smiled tentatively, and Grissom beamed with pride. She had to like it. She had decorated it. It had been a blank canvas before she had breathed life into his old townhouse. "Where do I sleep?"

His face fell. "You can have the bedroom."

She nodded. "Where are you going to be?"

"I'll, uh…take the couch."

"Are you sure? I wouldn't mind the couch."

Grissom's eyes zoned in on her belly and the baby he knew was nestled in there. "No. No, you'll be comfortable on the bed. Don't worry about me. I've fallen asleep on that couch so many times."

"'Kay."

He led her to their room. "You're stuff is in that dresser," he told her. "Do you, uh…want anything to eat? I could make something real quick. Or we could order out."

"Whatever you want," she said absentmindedly as she eyed her new surroundings.

He ordered her favorite Thai food and smiled as he watched her wolf it down. Grissom had definitely paid attention to her likes and dislikes since they became a couple, and he was planning to use all the knowledge in his well-stocked arsenal to coax his Sara out from hiding.

"This is really great. What's it called?"

His smile faded momentarily. "Um…fried tofu with garlic. _Dofu Gratium Prik Thai_, I believe."

"I don't know why I'm so hungry," she sighed as she began to dig into the noodles on her plate.

Grissom said nothing. He wasn't sure if her unusual appetite could be attributed to having spent the last several days living on nothing but hospital food, or the fact that she was now almost nine weeks pregnant, according to her doctor. He'd need to do some reading on pregnancy. He knew he needed to be prepared enough for the both of them.

Sara sat back in her chair, placing a hand on her now-full stomach. She had polished off her can of soda and soon began eyeing the fridge. "Can I get something to drink?" she asked, getting up before he could answer.

"Sure," he said, watching her open the refrigerator.

"Oh, you've got the good stuff," she said happily, pulling out a bottle of imported beer. "Microbrew. You want one?"

Grissom felt his blood run cold. "Sara…you can't drink that."

"Why?"

His heart beat fast in his chest. "You're pregnant, honey."

The bottle slipped from her fingers and shattered at her feet.

Chapter 5: Martha, My Dear

A baby.

Twenty years old and she was having a baby. _No_, she thought quickly to herself, _I'm thirty-five_. Thirty-five years old.

_And I still don't want a baby_.

He was watching her like she was a bomb about to go off. "How did this happen?"

Grissom's eyes widened. "Sara…we…"

"No, I know how _it _happened. But don't we use birth control? Do you wear condoms?" A chill went up her spine. "Was this…_planned_?" She couldn't picture it. From very early on, Sara knew she did not want children. She wasn't equipped with the skills it took to be a mother and babies were just not something that interested her. Ever.

"I didn't know about it until after…the accident. And no, we had never talked about children. You were on the Pill," he explained. "This was as much a surprise to me as it was to you."

"I think I've got you beat on that count," she mumbled. "Oh God," she moaned, covering her face with her hands. "How did I get here?"

Grissom stared blankly at her. He heard the jingled of the dog's collar and watched, numbly, as it moved to lick the food off of Sara's plate.

"What the fuck is that?" Sara shrieked, leaning back in her chair as their dog placed both paws on the table to get better access to her spicy noodles.

"That's our dog."

"I have a dog? No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I'm afraid of dogs."

"Get down," Grissom said quickly, tugging the dog by its collar. _Afraid of dogs?_ He quickly recalled the day he surprised her with the excitable boxer. Her movements had been stiff, her smile had been tentative. He had thought that Sara was less-than-thrilled at first because of the work that came along with a pet, but it hadn't occurred to him her initial lack of enthusiasm had anything to do with fear.

His Sara wasn't afraid of anything.

"When I was a kid, a rottweiler attacked me," she explained quickly. "I don't like big dogs."

"He won't bite."

"Did he tell you that?"

Grissom got up. "I'll put him in the office."

Not sure what to do, Sara began to clear the table as she waited for him to return. He watched her silently scrape her plate into the garbage and for a moment, it was as if his Sara were back. But then she turned to look at him and he knew that the eyes peering out of his favorite face didn't exude the warmth of a love to which he had grown so accustomed. "What's next?"

"Get some rest, Sara."

Chapter 6: Why Don't We Do It In the Road?

Grissom returned to work to find himself relieved of the position of nightshift supervisor. There was enough going on in his personal life to take the sting out of the professional slight. He was glad enough for Catherine, and congratulated her before fielding questions from the team about Sara's well-being.

"She's as well as can be expected at the moment," he told them, and offered nothing more.

"When can we see her?" Greg asked.

"When she's ready."

He spent most of his time in his office, catching up on paperwork. Out of respect for her friend, Catherine didn't deign to give him the run-of-the-mill jobs. He was there to exercise his specialty and that was it. The former workaholic was now spending a maximum of six hours a night at work, sometimes far less. His personal life demanded much more attention.

Sara needed looking after.

Grissom didn't dare crowd her. She had made it clear early on that he was not the boss of her. But he needed to be…there. He needed to be around. If she was tempted to go outside, he had to make sure he was there to go with her. Not only was she pregnant, she had just survived an attempt on her life by the most intelligent, dangerous serial killer he had ever come across.

But for the most part, Sara stayed inside. Nausea had her stationed in the bathroom for a couple of hours every afternoon and the rest of the time, she'd read his books. "I know so little," she said out of the blue one morning after flipping through a forensics magazine.

"On the contrary," he said. "You know a lot."

She shook her head at him. He just didn't understand. Sara was a hard worker, and the evidence plainly stated that she had worked hard for the past fifteen years to become an excellent scientist. And now that hard work was lost and she was back to square one, only fifteen years older with a baby on the way and a boyfriend who watched her every move like she was a science experiment.

She supposed he was her boyfriend, although their relationship was little more than a few cordial greetings upon waking and before going to bed. And while Sara read forensics textbook after forensic textbook and poured over his old case files, Grissom immersed himself in pregnancy literature. He was there with her during her visits to the obstetrician; he asked all the questions while Sara kept her mouth shut. She felt so very much like an outsider, there only in the capacity that she was incubating the fetus he made with the woman she used to be.

"Ooh," she squeaked one afternoon as she stood at the bookcase in his living room, looking for something new to read.

Grissom looked up from his crossword puzzle, alarmed. "What? What is it? Are you okay?" he asked, firing questions in rapid succession.

"Yeah, yeah," she assured him as she wandered over to the couch with a novel. "I think it's kicking."

"The baby?" he asked, eyes wide.

Sara rolled her eyes at him. "Who else would be kicking me?" She tucked her feet under her, kneeling up a bit on the couch and lifting her shirt with one hand so she could bring his palm to her belly with the other. She guided his hand to the right spot and held it there. "It was right there," she said. "I know I felt it."

His hands were on her skin for the first time in months. He could feel his body begin to grow aroused by the mere touch and started to pull away when Sara anchored his hands more tightly to her stomach. "There it is!" she exclaimed and he raised his eyebrows as he felt a ripple under his fingers. "Isn't that insane?"

"Yeah," he breathed, his hands still splayed out over her burgeoning abdomen. She wasn't large, but her belly was definitely pronounced, with a firm little bump that was now making itself known against his palms.

Grissom watched Sara close her eyes. "This is so weird."

"Uh huh," he said, letting his hands creep around her waist and back again to her belly. Her eyes sprang open, but she didn't move away. Temptation and instinct had one hand venturing up the front of her T-shirt to take hold of a now-swollen breast. Sara heaved in his hand, leaning into his touch.

Grissom pulled away suddenly as if he had been burned. "Sorry. I'm sorry," he repeated before getting up off of the couch and disappearing into his office.

Sara stared at the empty space he had left on the couch, shocked that she had wanted so badly to continue being touched by him. She wasn't sure exactly why, but his warm hands felt so good.

While she was confused, Grissom was livid with himself. He had touched her, was aching for her -- a woman that wasn't his Sara. The body might've been the same, but _she _wasn't there. Fate was a cruel mistress.

They barely talked for the next few days until the awkwardness began to dissipate.

And then Sara walked into the bathroom to relieve her bladder.

Grissom had just gotten out of the shower, dripping wet and naked. She quickly averted her eyes, but not before she saw it all. "I'm sorry," she said hurriedly, red-faced as she closed the door behind her. Sara walked quickly to the living room and picked up the first book she could find, pretending to read it while her mind was locked on the image of him coming out of the shower, and suddenly she began to wonder what it would be like if he did more than just touch her.

Had he any idea Sara's thoughts were remotely positive, Grissom's period of self-loathing might've been short-lived. As it was, they began another, longer round of not talking, with their behavior rooted in embarrassment and miscommunication. It was nothing new for Grissom and Sara.

Chapter 7: Blackbird

Grissom sat at his desk at work late one balmy fall evening.

A knock on the door had him looking up, and, like Pavlov's dog, he half expected the familiar sight of Sara in his doorway. Catherine raised her eyebrows. "Got a minute?"

He sat back in his chair and exhaled. "Sure, boss."

"I just wanted to ask you how things are," she told him as she closed the door behind her. The subject of Sara was generally off-limits to the team, but Catherine needed some closure. She needed to know things were okay between the two of them.

"Things are fine," he said, stonewalling her as usual. She decided to take a different route.

"So, when's the baby due?"

"Christmas."

"Great," she smiled. "So…boy or girl? Do you know?"

He pursed his lips and recalled the moment their obstetrician had asked if they wanted to know the sex of the baby via ultrasound. Sara had deferred to him, and he was much too impatient to wait a few extra months in order to learn the sex of the baby.

"It's a little girl."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Catherine said, genuinely happy for her friends. "Sara must be excited."

Grissom's mouth hardened into a straight line.

"Gil…doesn't she remember anything? Anything at all?"

"She will."

Catherine frowned. "I hope so."

"She will," he repeated. She had to. Grissom knew the moment she saw their baby, the moment she held what they had made together, it would all come back to her. It had to. He thanked God every day that her birth control had failed and that the baby survived the attack. With Sara's memory gone, their baby girl was the only thing tying her to him, and he knew once the love that was created between the two of them was in their arms, Sara would remember it all.

So, on Christmas Eve, as Sara went into labor, he kept his eyes on her as their child came into the world. Exhausted, she lay back while they cleaned off the baby, wrapping her up in a blanket and placing her on Sara's chest. Grissom waited for the light bulb to go off in her head, for her to look at him and beam.

She kept her eyes on the baby, however, staring at the tiny, tiny being in her arms. "She's so small," Sara murmured.

"She's six pounds, one ounce," the nurse informed her, smiling at the new parents.

Sara looked from the baby to Grissom. "You take her," she said. "I don't know what to do."

Grissom lifted his daughter up into his arms and began to consciously refocus his entire world. The center of the universe was not the woman in the bed anymore. It was the bundle in his arms.

"Shh, shh, shh," he whispered softly as the baby began to fuss. "I'm here. I'm here."

Chapter 8: Birthday

He quit his job the day after Julia was born.

The office that once held jars of animal parts in formaldehyde was now painted a soft pink, replete with a crib and a mobile. And a couch where he could sleep so he could always be close to his baby. He was determined never to leave her side.

Sara didn't venture into the nursery often, choosing instead to hover at the doorway on occasion, as if she were waiting for permission to visit. Grissom had looked surprised when she had offered to breastfeed Julia at the hospital. "One of your books -- they recommended it," she explained.

"Oh." He knew he shouldn't have been surprised that she had gotten around to reading some of the many books had had acquired over the course of her pregnancy. Like the old Sara, the new Sara was a voracious reader.

When the baby had trouble latching on, the lactation consultant the hospital provided mentioned an electric pump might be convenient, and Grissom picked one up before they were discharged later that same day. Sara spent much of her days amidst the wheezing, sucking sound of the pump, feeling like an utter failure. He had changed every diaper, given every bath. Julia barely had a chance to cry, for her father was always there to cuddle and soothe.

Sara might have been lonely, but she knew from bad fathers, and the man that her old self had picked for a partner deeply loved the baby. She found solace in that. Gil talked to Julia constantly, explaining anything and everything in a soft, comforting voice. Sara would take the baby monitor from the kitchen once he had settled Julia down for the night and place it on the pillow in bed next to her, listening to him talk about the origins of the Earth or the Declaration of Independence while the infant nodded off.

She would squeeze her eyes shut, willing herself to remember something -- anything. She desperately did not want to be left out anymore. Gil was building a life with Julia, and she was not a part of it. She didn't know what kind of place she wanted in their life, but it hurt to be the outsider. There seemed to be no help Sara could offer, no advice she could give.

He just plain didn't need her.

_They _just plain didn't need her.

So she'd listen every night over the baby monitor, closing her eyes and imagining herself there with them, maybe not interacting, maybe not participating, but included.

Chapter 9: While My Guitar Gently Weeps

Sara watched Grissom's phone vibrate on the kitchen counter. He was giving Julia her bath. She had intended to just let it ring until she saw the name on the display.

Brass.

Gil had spent many long hours on the phone with a man named Brass, updating him on the status of the woman who had kidnapped and injured her the previous year. Sara had pieced together the events as she listened to him talk intensely into his phone for months after her assault. "I want her put away for the rest of her life," he had told the man named Brass, his voice deeper than she had ever heard it. "If I have to call in every favor I'm owed…I don't want Natalie near her ever again."

Sara suspected he'd want to talk to Brass so she quickly picked up his cell and walked to the bathroom door, knocking softly.

"Yes?"

She opened the door and took in the site. Gil was kneeling on the floor, his sleeves rolled up high as he lightly rubbed a washcloth over Julia's head. The baby sputtered and kicked happily in her bath seat, obviously excited by the whole experience. "Your phone," she told him, extending her arm out so he could take the cell phone from her.

Grissom wiped his hand on his jeans and took it from Sara. "Hello?"

"Gil, it's Jim."

The bile began to rise in his throat. Brass had not called for months. Something was wrong. Grissom's eyes darted to the baby and he stuttered quickly, "H-hold on. One second." He handed Sara back the phone and grabbed a towel before lifting the slippery, shiny baby out of the bath and into his arms, resting her head on his right shoulder. She caught her reflection in the mirror and Sara watched her watch herself while Grissom once again got back on the phone. "What is it? What's wrong? Where's Natalie?"

"It's not Natalie," Jim croaked. "Gil, it's Catherine. She's dead. She was taken by surprise at a crime scene. The perp was hiding in the photo booth at an arcade. Some dumb punk of a kid. He got her from behind."

"Oh, God."

"She died on the scene."

"Oh, God."

"You've gotta come in. It's a mess."

Sara looked on as Grissom hung up the phone and tossed it on the counter by the sink. There was a flash of anger in his eyes which dissipated quickly as the five-month-old wiggled in his arms. "Come on," he said quietly, and for a small moment, Sara believed he was talking to her. She followed him to the nursery anyway, watching warily as he eased Julia onto the changing table.

"Catherine Willows died tonight," he said somberly, not bothering to look up as he diapered and dressed the baby. "I worked with her for many years. She was there with me when…she was there at the hospital. She took care of things. She helped find you."

"I'm sorry."

"I've got to go in and see what I can do to help with things."

"Okay."

"I'm going to give Julia her bottle and then she'll be out for the night. If she wakes up, there's another bottle in the fridge. Just put it in the bottle warmer and test the milk to make sure it's not too hot." He watched the baby, never once taking his eyes off of her. "Catherine wanted to meet the baby."

"Why didn't you invite her over?"

"I kept waiting for you to get better."

Chapter 10: Cry Baby Cry

So much had changed. Grissom set foot in the lab, and it was as if he were entering a place he had never been before. It looked the same, but the feeling…the feeling was so different. Catherine was gone. Sara was gone and in her place was a reminder of what he had lost.

And he was different now as well.

He was a father. That was his job now. Whatever strong pull he had once felt towards the goings on in the LVPD lab had been erased and it their place was the need to rock Julia to sleep, to tell her stories about his own father, and to catalogue her different moods.

Nick, Warrick, and Greg greeted him with puffy, tear-stained faces. "Archie is going over the surveillance now," Nick said, clearing his throat. "We've got two kids in custody. Brass is with them now."

"Okay." It seemed as if they had everything under control. There was nothing for them to do but wait. He'd do that for the men in front of them -- he'd wait with them, by their sides. They had been good to him during his time of need. They would mourn together.

And then it dawned on him.

"Oh my God, where's Lindsey?"

"That's why we needed you," Warrick told him. "We-we can't tell her that her mom died."

"Where's Catherine's mother?"

"On a cruise," Greg said, his voice hoarse. "Catherine had…had qualms about leaving Lindsey alone at night while her mother was away, but…but she said she trusted her."

"I'll go now."

Grissom left the lab and drove to Catherine's house. He debated calling first, but knew the sixteen-year-old should not be alone when she learned of her mother's death. As he walked up to the front door, his phone began to trill. The under sheriff's name lit up in the display. He sneered at the phone and turned it off.

On the other side of town, Sara stood guard over Julia's crib. The baby slept peacefully, her hands curled up under her chin as her lips pursed and her mouth sucked a phantom bottle. Her right leg kicked her blanket down to her ankles and Sara couldn't help but smile and gently bring it back up to cover her. Unable to resist, Sara stroked the side of the girl's plump cheek, marveling at the being she had given birth to not long ago.

Julia's lower lip protruded into a pout and she began to whimper. Sara's heart beat fast in her chest as the baby opened her eyes and began to wail. Trying all manner of things she had seen Grissom do with ease for months, Sara couldn't get the baby to stop screaming. She reached for the phone, wondering why she felt so bad disappointing him.

It took several rings of the doorbell before the tired teenager ambled to the door and opened it. It had been years since he had really seen the girl. She had been a bright, sunny child and he always remembered her as such. Lindsey looked so much older now, but nowhere near old enough to handle the news he had to give her.

She collapsed at the door and Grissom quickly caught her, lifting her up and carrying her to the couch where she spent the next half hour sobbing into his shoulder. "I know," he whispered, doing his best to soothe her. "She loved you very much." He squeezed his eyes shut in sympathy for the now-motherless daughter, thinking of his own motherless daughter at home. As Lindsey's sobs died down, Grissom pursed his lips. "Come on, you can't stay here," he told her. "You can stay at my house while I go back to the lab."

Lindsey said nothing as he walked her out to his car. She climbed into the passenger's seat, pale and weak looking. "I'm so sorry, Lindsey."

"I really don't feel like talking right now."

Grissom nodded and buckled his seatbelt. The belt caught on the phone in his pocket and he pulled it out so it wouldn't dig into his body. Out of habit, he turned it on and moved to toss it in the console when the telltale beep of missed calls had him scanning the display: The under sheriff, Hodges, Home. Home. Home. Home.

He sped home, taking as many side streets as possible to avoid hitting red lights. "Come on," he said quickly -- and he hoped gently -- to Lindsey as he parked in the driveway. They entered the townhouse, the eerie silence causing his throat to tighten. "Sara?" he called out before speedily ushering Lindsey to the couch. "Wait here for a moment. I'll be right back. Sara?"

Grissom raced to the nursery, his eyes darting immediately to the empty crib.

"We're over here," Sara waved from the glider in the corner of the room. Julia was nestled in her arms.

"What's wrong? I got, like, five missed calls from you."

"Oh…we had a bit of a crying problem. She wouldn't stop and I got a little worried."

"Did you give her the bottle?"

Sara nodded. "She wouldn't take it. I checked her diaper. I tried to do that thing you do where you hold her on her stomach when she has gas -- didn't work."

"So how did you get her to stop?" he asked, his heart rate finally returning to something resembling normal.

"She was hungry."

"But I thought you said…" Grissom's voice died off as he finally noticed that Julia wasn't asleep in Sara's arms, but nursing.

"This was the only thing that would get her to stop." She suddenly felt embarrassed, as if she had overstepped the bounds. "I think she's almost done, anyway," Sara said quietly, looking down as the baby pulled off of her nipple, rooted around and then began to cry again. She quickly covered her exposed breast and waited for him to take the baby from her.

Grissom just stood there, watching her hold the crying infant.

Unsure what to do next, Sara adjusted Julia in her arms. The baby nuzzled her chest, instinctively searching for more food. She held her breath and bit the bullet, positioning the baby at her other breast. Julia latched on and nursed contentedly. Sara willed herself to look up at Gil. He was watching her and not the baby for the first time in a very long time. Remembering the ordeal he was going through, she cleared her throat and began talking. "Is everything okay at work -- all things considered, of course."

"I, uh…I brought Lindsey home with me. Catherine's mother is away so she was home alone."

"Who's Lindsey?"

"Catherine's daughter. I…look -- I've got to get back to the lab. Lindsey is out of it. I don't think she's going to do anything more than sleep."

"She can have my bed," Sara supplied. "The sheets are clean."

"Okay."

"Look, Gil…you go back to work. You've got enough on your plate as it is. I'll take care of Lindsey."

He nodded. "I'll show her to the bedroom."

Chapter 11: I'm So Tired

Julia finished her meal soon after her father left. Sara tucked the infant in the crook of her elbow and walked to the master bedroom. A zombie-like teenager lay like a rag doll on top of the covers. Sara's heart tightened at the sight. "Hi," she said softly. "I'm Sara."

Lindsey swallowed, but said nothing.

Sara sat with Julia on the side of the bed, careful not to crowd the girl. "I'm just going to stay here and if you need anything, just ask."

Lindsey stared into space for over an hour. Her red-rimmed eyes looked painful, her hair was matted against the bedcovers. Sara said nothing. There were some situations in life when words did no good.

The baby began to stir. Sara felt her diaper. It seemed…full. She wasn't sure. "I, uh…think I have to go change the baby. I'll be right back," she said, getting up from the bed. When she got to the doorway, she turned to look at Lindsey. "Do you want to help? I really have no idea what I'm doing."

With the teenager's help, they managed to get Julia cleaned up and in a fresh diaper without much incident.

"I always wanted a little brother or a sister," Lindsey sighed as they walked back to the bedroom. "It's probably better it's just me. I wouldn't want someone else to have to go through this."

Sara frowned as she sat back down on the side of the bed with the baby. "Lindsey…you're going to be okay."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes. Yes, you are. The most important thing in this life is to know who you are. If you can do that, the rest…"

"The rest sucks. My life is shit," she mumbled into the pillow.

"My dad…my dad used to beat my mom. Every day. Every single day. And then when one day when I was eleven, she had had enough and she killed him. I lost my mother and my father on the same day."

Lindsey looked up at Sara sleepily. "What did you do?"

"I let myself feel bad for a little while, and then I decided that how I lived my life was up to me. You were so young when your father died. I remember you were sitting in the break room at work and I knew you'd get through it, that it wouldn't break you…" Sara lost her voice. Her throat tightened.

"Yeah," the girl yawned, closing her eyes.

Lindsey. She could see Lindsey at eight years old in the break room. She could see Warrick asking about Hank -- Hank! She remembered Hank. And Nick and Greg and Catherine. A tear ran down Sara's cheek and landed on the baby's downy head as she finally felt the loss of her friend.

The front door opened and shut.

Grissom.

Her Grissom.

She remembered.

Chapter 12: Good Night

He took the baby from her arms, not because he thought her incapable, but because he needed to hold his daughter. He looked beat. "Where's Lindsey?"

"She's asleep."

Grissom nodded and walked to the nursery. Sara left him alone with Julia because she knew he needed it, tidying up the place while she waited for him to come out. She had no idea what to say. The pieces of the puzzle were all coming together finally and the picture was clear. She knew who she was. She knew who _he _was.

"I need some air," he said, passing through the living room to the front door. He opened it wide and stepped into the evening air. "I'll just be out here," he told her before shutting the door.

Sara sighed and went to the refrigerator, pulling out two bottles of beer. She grabbed a bottle opener and the baby monitor and joined him on the stoop outside. Grissom looked alarmed initially, but took a beer and the bottle opener from her hands while she settled down next to him, placing the monitor to her side and holding her bottle out for him to open as well.

She smiled sadly at his tired form and clinked her bottle against his. "To Catherine Willows."

"To Catherine," he said, raising his beer before taking a swig.

"Are you all right?"

"I will be," he said, watching the empty street in front of him. "You, uh…you surprised me today. You did a…a good job. With Julia. Really. I didn't expect it."

She imperceptibly shook her head and smiled to herself as she downed the last of her beer. Sighing, Sara got up and took the empty from his hand. "You always were pretty pathetic with your compliments."

THE END


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